


Breath to a Flame

by Fyre



Series: Burning [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the defeat of the ogres, the Dark One was released, but when a new threat arises in the Southlands, Belle reaches for his blade once more.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/372538">From the Ashes</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Breath to a Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this was a Rumbelle Ninja Plot Bunny Attack and dive-bombed into my head without warning. And, as usual, it threw several unexpected things my way, which - while I love them - still surprised me. Enjoy :)

The army spread as far as the eye could see. Ranks of horses stood at the fore, and in the centre, the King sat, cloaked in scarlet and crowned in gold. A younger man, his son no doubt, sat on a brown stallion by his side.

Belle faced them, barely a stone's throw away. The thick grasses rippled and swirled in the wind rolling in from the sea, tossing her hair about her face. Her cloak snapped in the air like a living thing, and she raised her face.

"Why are you here?" she called out, her voice clear and devoid of fear.

There was little that the lady of the Southern provinces feared any longer. Her lands had been ravaged, her family slain, her people scattered, and now, she and the few who survived were picking up the pieces.

The King spurred his horse forward. He wanted to tower over her, she knew, to try and intimidate her. She had known enough bullies to recognise them, and she lifted her head to hold his eyes.

"You know why we're here, girl," he said, reining in his mare, looking down on her.

At her belt, Belle's hand curled around the grip of the dagger which never left her side. If there was something she despised, it was silent threat. "I know that you have crossed the boundaries of my land, with an army, with no just cause."

King George smiled like a snake. "Dear girl, we are merely here to offer defence to your undefended land."

She gazed at him placidly. At least, she thought, the ogres had not pretended to be civilised. "What makes you think my lands are undefended?" she said. "We may be few and we may have lost many, but we are not defenceless."

It was not wholly the truth, but neither was it lie.

A year before, in desperation, when all hope was lost, she had summoned the power of the Dark One. On her order, he destroyed the armies of the ogres, decimating them and leaving nothing but dust and ashes. For months, he was bound to her, and when she released him, when her journey was done, she had not been slain as she expected.

Why, she didn't understand, but he had placed his dagger, the object used to summon and bind him, in her hands. He trusted her to protect it, and not to abuse the power it could grant her. It was astonishing and terrifying to know that he believed her worthy to hold it.

She still bore it, no matter where she went. The weight of it against her thigh reminded her what it was to be honourable. He trusted her to be wise and fair, not corrupted by power, and she was determined to prove worthy of it.

The King laughed. "My dear, I have seen your army," he said. "Do you think you could protect your lands from any enemy, with the numbers you have now?"

The grip of the dagger was smooth and warm against her hand. "Do you think I have enemies?"

His smile was like a knife. "Everyone has enemies. An alliance would be in your best interests."

"I think you'll find it would be in yours," Belle murmured. "My lands are ripe and fertile. There are many strategically valuable positions on the coast. We have good water supplies, a wealth of mines and much to be claimed that is precious." She took a step closer to him. "But you already know that, and that's why you come with your army." She looked at him coolly. "What do you want?"

"We will grant you a portion of our army," he said as if this was a great boon. "We will defend you as one of our provinces, and allow your people safe passage between our Kingdoms under our mantle."

She gazed at him, expressionless. "And the price?"

He smiled, thin-lipped. "The price is usually a union between the Kingdoms. A marriage."

Belle's teeth clenched together. Only months earlier, her husband of seven years had been lain on a pyre, sent to the afterlife to join their children and her father. The thought of marrying again, another political alliance, to slake some grasping King's desire for her lands, made her stomach twist in fury.

"I expect I am the price, then?" she said mildly. "And the groom?"

A curt gesture from the King brought his son forward. He was a handsome man, young, and he looked as uncomfortable with the proposition as she did. "My son, James," the King said. "He is young, but he is eager."

Belle studied him. He looked anything but. All the same, he bowed his head to her respectfully, and in turn, she bowed to him. She returned her attention to the King. "Forgive me, your Majesty. Your offer is generous," she said, "but I'm afraid I must decline."

His face tightened in fury, his lips thinning to whiteness. "That is unfortunate."

Perhaps it was simple insolence. Perhaps it was the fact that he patronised, insulted and infuriated her. Whatever it was that drove her to do so, she couldn't be sure, but she turned her back on him and walked away.

He cursed explosively, and she wondered if she could expect a blade in her back. "You little bitch."

Belle stopped dead, stiffening her back.

Beneath her cloak, her fingers drew the dagger from the sheath. It was something she had promised herself she would never do: summoning him simply to seek his power and guardianship once more. It felt as if she were sullying what he had said to her, how he had trusted her.

For weeks, months, she had wished for his companionship again, dark and ironic and bitter as he was, but out of fear of seeming weak, she had resisted. He was the last thing she had left of her old life, and she was trying her best to build something new.

Sometimes, however, only the old would suffice.

The ball of her thumb slid along the edge of the blade, drawing a thick rime of blood.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she whispered, barely a breath, as she turned to face the King.

The King's expression was black as a storm cloud. If he was on the same level as her, she knew he would have struck her for the insult to him. That pleased her immeasurably, especially as she had openly defied and humiliated him in front of his army.

"I would not insult me, were I you," she murmured, extending her cut thumb and allowing the drop of blood to fall.

It was as if he had watched from afar. Rumpelstiltskin, cloaked and wreathed in shadow, unfurled from the drop as it hit the ground. He swept into a bow, going on one knee before her, and looked up at her from the cowl of the cloak.

His expression was unreadable as ever, but his eyes fixed on her face, seeking explanation, and she knew he of all people would be able to see the desperation that was driving her. Her breath seemed trapped in her lungs, and when he extended a hand to her, it escaped in a soft, breathless sigh of relief.

"My lady," he murmured. She laid her fingers against his and her lips curled up when he bowed over her knuckles.

"What is this?" King George demanded. There was the beginning of fear in his voice.

Belle looked up at him. "This is the Dark One," she replied calmly, though her heart was drumming against her ribs. "I told you that we were not defenceless. You chose to ignore what was said. You know this is the land which destroyed the ogres. What makes you think it was our armies that did such a thing?"

Rumpelstiltskin rose from the ground, stepping to Belle's side, and turned to face the King. She could see the unpleasant curl of his lips from the corner of his eyes. "Why, if it isn't King George," he said.

Prince James' face was pale, and he looked at his father, but the King stared at them.

"Rumpelstiltskin?" he sneered. "You call on Rumpelstiltskin for help?"

Belle felt light-headed. What relief was there faded like morning dew. If the King knew his name, then he could summon him as he willed as well. He could prevent Rumpelstiltskin from defending them if he wished. She swayed, but forced herself to keep her feet.

"Called?" Rumpelstiltskin laughed, low and unpleasant. "No, no, dear." He wagged a finger at the King. "You are the type to call on me. Begging, as I recall." He looked at Belle, and she kept staring defiantly ahead at the King. "She summoned. She controls." He swung his head back towards George. "The lady is my Mistress. In blood and deed."

Belle saw the colour drained from the King's face. "Lies."

"Who do you think made me kill all the ogres?" Rumpelstiltskin said, smiling nastily. "This witch is a ruthless one." Belle's lips twitched, but she wisely decided to stay silent. Tales from another often sounded better than boasting about one's self. "You know the power I wield. She commands it."

Prince James guided his horse closer to the King's. "Father," he said quietly.

King George stared at Belle. There was something between horror and revulsion visible in his eyes, and that felt much more satisfying than the greedy look he had worn only moments earlier. "An enchantress?" he said darkly.

"If you like," Belle murmured. "Rumpelstiltskin, I have an order for you."

"My lady?"

"These people are on my land. I would have them gone."

His red eyes gleamed at her, and his lips turned up. "By what means, my lady?"

Belle smiled gently and looked at the King. "If they are not back across the borders within the passing of an hour, by any means."

The King's face shaded from white to grey, and he wheeled his horse around, breaking through the lines of his men at a gallop. His son paused long enough to give Belle a brief, apologetic nod, then spurred his horse on after his father.

Belle's heart was drumming as wildly as the horses' hooves, but she didn't move until the whole army was retreating at speed. Only once they were out of sight did she turned to Rumpelstiltskin, who was looking at her with a strange, mild little smile on his lips.

"I trust I played my part well, dear."

She threw her arms around him and embraced him as hard as she could. "You could not have been more so," she assured him. He hesitated, his hands hovering uncertainly by her sides, as if uncertain how to touch her. "Thank you."

He stepped back with that peculiar little hopping gait of his. "Nonsense, dearie," he said. "You needed my aid, and here I am." He pointed at her sternly. "No binding nonsense this time."

"No," she agreed. The relief at the sight of him was giving way to a feeling of trembling trepidation. Her knees were shivering, and she wondered if he realised just how much it comforted her to see his face again.

Too many in the settlement were intimidated by the knowledge of what she had done. They loved her, that was doubtless, and they would have followed her to the ends of the world if she asked, but it didn't stop them fearing her. He was the only person in the wake of her husband's death who had provided some kind of comfort as an equal.

There was a truth she had been avoiding, hiding from, in the long months since their one night together. He brought her back from the edge of the abyss, when her mind and spirit were shattered, and they had clung to one another like children lost in a storm.

No one had touched her since.

"Come with me," she said. "I would like to talk to you."

He fell into step alongside her, pushing back the hood of his cloak. "You remain?" he said, nodding towards the expanding village. What had been ruins months earlier had been rebuilt, a little at a time.

"More have joined us," she said with a smile. "I think they take comfort that there are so many of us settling here."

He slanted a glance at her. "Your castle is still in ruin."

Belle nodded, though she didn't look towards it. Too many memories and lives were buried there. "It will be a testament to those who were lost," she replied quietly. "We cannot forget simply because the ogres are gone."

"Such things should be remembered," he agreed quietly.

She led the way through the winding streets of the village to the house that he had rebuilt around her, while she lay catatonic with grief. Even without orders, he had shielded her and protected her when she was broken. Just as Gaston had done when he was alive, so Rumpelstiltskin did, asking nothing in return.

"I remember this place," he murmured, and there was something in his voice that gave her pause. She looked at him, and saw the subtle curve of his mouth. "You liked it well enough to stay?"

"This is where I started again," she replied, her hand at the door. It was shaking at the thought of taking him in. It was ridiculous. He had seen her broken and vulnerable and desperate, but now, when she was whole and strong once more, now she feared him.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Something is troubling you, dear," he observed.

She hesitated, then nodded. "Come," she said quietly, pushing the door open.

The house was quiet and lit only by the sunlight drifting through the two small windows. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and she saw that young Elanor was still sewing by the fire. The girl was one of the many orphans of the war. She looked up with a smile, then her expression froze at the sight of Rumpelstiltskin. She looked imploringly at Belle, who nodded, and she scrambled to her feet and fled.

"A new arrival," Belle murmured, bending down to pick up the girl's sewing. He was silent, and she could hardly bear to look up, knowing that someone such as he could not have missed that they were not alone.

"Not the only one," he finally said. She straightened up as he walked past her towards the crib on the other side of the cottage.

Belle twisted the piece of fabric between her hands. Her chest felt tight, as though bound with metal bands, and she forced herself to walk closer. His fingertips were resting on the edge of the crib and he gazed at the infant within.

"Yours?" She nodded wordlessly. "Name?"

"He has none yet," she said around a throat that felt like it was closing up. "In these lands, it's the father's place to name the son."

He looked at her. "And if there is no father?"

Belle looked at him, wondering if he truly believed Gaston had been capable of fathering a child in the last months of his life. She hesitated, then laid a hand over his on the side of the crib. "There is a father."

His hand twitched under hers, and she could feel his eyes on her face as she looked down at the sleeping infant, their son. It took all the courage she had left to lift her eyes to look him in the face. She couldn't read all the emotions there, but she could see doubt and confusion.

"Will you name him?" she asked, her voice shaking so much it was barely comprehensible.

"Name him?"

She nodded. His hand was trembling beneath hers. "If you wish to."

"Your son?"

She swallowed down hard on the knot of fear. "Our son," she corrected. If he wanted to claim the child, if he swept away with the infant, she knew her world would come crashing down around her again, but he had as much right to the child as she did.

He pulled his hand from beneath hers, backing away from her. He looked paler, somehow, shaken.

"I wanted to tell you," she said quietly, remaining by the crib. "I was afraid."

He paced in a tight circle on the floor, like a caged animal. "Why tell me?" he asked hoarsely. "Why now? What use is it?"

She stared at him, uncertain. "What use?"

He whirled on her, his eyes strange and wild. "Do I look like a father?" he demanded, pressing his hands to his chest. "What manner of infant should be cursed with a monster like me as a father?" He spun about again, stalking to the window. His nails drew curling chunks out of the windowledge. "He should not be cursed with that."

Belle crossed the floor in three steps, then pressed her hands to the heavy coat covering his shoulders. She rested her brow between his shoulderblades, sliding her hands down to wrap her arms around his waist. "You're not a monster, Rumpelstiltskin."

He shuddered, but didn't pull away. "You don't know what I've done, dear," he said in a dull voice.

"I know what you didn't do," she countered. "And I know what you did for me."

The sound he made was a bitter bark of laughter. "I violated you while you grieved and left you to raise a bastard."

She grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around to face her. She was shaking with fury. "Don't you dare say that," she said, pinning him back against the wall, her hands hard against his chest. "I was there, you stupid man. I know what happened. And don't you think for a minute that I regret a moment of it."

He stared down at her, as if she had struck him.

She sighed, lifting one of her hands to touch his cheek. "You saved me," she said gently. "If you had let me, I would have faded as soon as Gaston was gone. But you didn't let that happen. You gave me a home and a son." His lips trembled, shaping a protest, and she pressed a fingertip to them softly. "Don't. I don't see this as a curse."

"Belle..." It was the first time she had heard him speak her name. His voice was hoarse, strained.

She stepped back and took one of his hands. "Come and meet your son," she said quietly, leading him unresisting towards the crib. She bent down and lifted the sleeping baby up. He was only a month old, still small and fragile. He stirred and complained quietly. She murmured soothingly, opening the blanket around him.

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes were wide, gleaming with some strange emotion, as he looked at the boy.

"He must have your eyes," she said quietly. "All my family had blue eyes, but his are brown.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s fingers uncurled and he tentatively touched the crown of the child’s head, as if barely believing it was real. “How old is he?” he asked, drawing his fingers carefully over the tiny head.

“He was born just after the last full moon,” Belle replied, watching the clawed hand moving with such gentleness, tracing the child’s brow. “I should have summoned you, but I… I didn’t know if you would want to take him.”

She could feel his eyes on her, and it felt as if he had caught his breath. “You believe I would have taken your child from you?” he said quietly.

She looked up at him. “I don’t know,” she admitted in a whisper. “He’s your child too. I didn’t know if he would be like you. Or like me. Or if he could be a threat to you. Or a weakness for me.” She tried to smile, but it failed. “I have grown so used to losing everything that I couldn’t think about having something that was mine.”

He withdrew his hand from the child’s head. “He’s yours,” he said slowly. “Don’t worry, dear. I won’t steal him away from you.”

Belle looked at their child, then at him. "Will you hold him?"

His expression was inscrutable. "I have a task to do," he said, stepping back. "It's coming up on the hour, and we don't want King George to think you have no resolve."

She nodded reluctantly. "He'll have left people deliberately," she said. "He seems the type."

Rumpelstiltskin gazed at her. "Your orders, my lady?"

She touched one of the baby's small fists. "Expel them," she said quietly. "Mercifully, if you can, but if they fight, make them see that we aren't afraid to use force. Put up a boundary once they're gone, something that won't allow those with ill intentions to enter."

He swept into a bow, vanishing from her sight as he did so.

The child wailed, and Belle rocked him gently.

She knew she had put a foot wrong, but she wasn't sure why.

 

_____________________________________________________

 

Rumpelstiltskin didn't return until the evening.

Belle was still awake, sitting in the chair by the fire. The child was fed and changed, asleep in the crib again. He was such a quiet child, never complaining. Cecile had been much noisier and fretful, though Eveline was always amiable.

She had a shirt in her lap, which she had been repairing, but was staring blankly into the fire when Rumpelstiltskin returned. He made no dramatic entrance. The other chair was empty, and the next moment, it was occupied. He was silent, his hands folded in his lap.

"Did he...?"

Rumpelstiltskin inclined his head, his face hidden in shadow. "A cohort," he murmured. "Young troops, no doubt recently called up to service."

Belle closed her eyes. "Their fate?"

His shoulders twitched. "As ordered," he said. "Those who could be pushed back were pushed back."

"Fatalities?" she whispered.

He hesitated. "Three," he said quietly. "They were attempting to slay me."

"Justified, then," she said, turning the shirt over in her lap. "I'm glad you're all right."

She couldn't see his face, hidden by shadows cast by his collar and his hair. "Are you." It wasn't a question.

She looked at him evenly. "Of course," she said. "You're my friend."

He unfolded and refolded his hands. "Friend?" There was a bitter sadness in the word, and Belle wondered just what she had said that had distressed him so.

"Yes," she said simply. "You're my friend. You know me." She set aside her repairs, and folded her hands, a mirror of him, bathed in the light from the fire. "I've upset you. I'm sorry. I don't know what I said, but I'm sorry."

He took a sharp, rasping breath. "You're imagining things, dearie."

She gazed at him, the shadow-man in the chair. "No," she said, "I'm not. I upset you when I said I thought you would take him."

She saw his hands twitch slightly, barely even noticeable, but it was all she could see of him, so she couldn't miss it. He folded one leg over the other, his foot shaking.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she said quietly, calmly. "Everything in my life has been taken from me. My home. My parents. My husband. My children. That has been my lot for years, and when I found out that I was to have another child, I couldn't bear to tell anyone, not anyone at all, because I was so afraid I would lose this one too."

"So you believed I would steal him."

She leaned back in the seat. "I wake most nights after nightmares of empty cradles and burned houses," she said. "This morning was the first time I left him in another's care, because I refuse to take my child to a battlefield." She breathed slowly in, then out. "I fear losing him more than anything, because he's everything." She drew a small, weary smile to her lips. "It isn't you alone. I fear everyone may take him from me. Death doesn't scare me, but losing everything again..."

Rumpelstiltskin was silent for a long time. "He's precious to you, then."

She nodded. "A child always is," she said.

"Always," he murmured.

She looked across at him. "You know that." She didn't know why she knew, but something told her the man before her had been a father. It explained everything: his distress at her accusations, his hesitation to touch the child. "What happened to your child?"

His hands folded and unfolded. "I became what I am," he finally said quietly over the crackle of the fire. "It drove him away." He leaned back, even further into shadow. "As I told you, no child should be cursed with one such as me as a father."

Belle rose from her chair and crossed the floor. She knelt by his feet, close enough to pick out his features in the darkness. "You are a good man," she said, resting her hand on his knee. "You saved my people. You protected us again today. I have never seen you harm someone unless under duress."

He tilted his head, faint flickers from the fire reflected in his dark eyes. "I have killed, dearie," he murmured, "in anger. Don't doubt that."

"I don't," she replied quietly, "but I don't believe you're the terrible monster you seem to believe."

He leaned closer, his lips drawing back from his teeth. "You barely know me."

She met his gaze head-on, raising her chin. She had never feared him and she did not intend to start now. "I know that when I was broken and weeping and ready to die, you held me up and didn't let me fall."

His nostrils flared and his lips twitched. "That means nothing."

She rose on her knees and cupped his chin in her hands. "It means everything."

He pushed her hands aside and rose. She half-expected him to vanish into the shadows, but he stopped by the door. One hand moved, touched the frame. "Why did you call me here?" he asked, his voice low. "Am I only summoned to be your weapon?"

Belle rose from her knees to stand. "You know you're not," she said quietly. "I missed you."

He snorted doubtfully, tapping his fingertips along the grain of the wood. "Missed me?"

Belle smiled slightly. "No one else would dare be so insolent to me," she murmured. She walked a little closer to him, slowly, as if he were a skittish colt. "You know what it's like to be feared, Rumpelstiltskin. So do I. It's a lonely feeling."

"Feared? You?" he said, sneering, but it lacked malice.

She was close enough to touch and she put her hand to his shoulder and felt the tremor that shook him. "They call me Ogre-Slayer," she murmured. "You may have done the deed, but they know I ordered it."

"King George seemed to be fearless facing you."

Belle moved just a little closer, until she was by his side, her hand moving to rest on his arm. "King George is ignorant," she said. "He heard the rumours and chose to think they were just that. You discouraged that."

He tilted his head to look at her. "What do you want from me?" he asked in a whisper. He seemed so afraid, her dark little sorcerer, afraid of her, afraid of what she might ask of him, what he might have to do.

"Nothing," she said quietly. "If you wish to depart, I won't hold you back." Her hand was warm on his arm, and she could feel the tension in him. "Rumpelstiltskin, I don't offer friendship lightly. If you will accept it, I offer it freely to you. No obligation. No duties bound to it." She gave him a small, tired smile. "Everyone needs at least one friend."

He laughed, a small, bitter sound. "Everything has a price, dear."

She shook her head. "Not this," she said quietly. "My lands are safe now. You're not under any obligation to stay or help or anything more. But if you ever need companionship, you will be welcome here." She inclined her head towards the cradle. "We will both be happy to see you."

His eyes flicked to the crib, then back to her face, suspicious and wary. "Why?"

She shrugged with a small smile. "Family. Blood. Affection."

He moved away just a little. He looked smaller, frailer, uncertain. "You know what I am."

"Yes," she said quietly. "You're the father of my child and the man who saved my life."

He hissed, frustrated, anxious. "I'm the Dark One, dearie," he said, waving a hand as if it could brush away the titles she bestowed on him. "And even if I weren't, taking you against a wall hardly makes me a suitable father or a good companion."

She said nothing, but reached out and took his hand.

He looked at their linked fingers. "Why?" he asked again, plaintively.

"Why not?" she countered. She squeezed his hand gently. "No price, Rumpelstiltskin." She released his hand and lifted her hands to stifle a yawn. She smiled again, quickly, wearily. "You can make your choice. I'm going to bed. It's been a long day."

She damped the fire, bent over the crib to kiss her son's brow, then retreated to the simple little bedstead at the back of the cottage. He was watching her, she knew, but she wasn't going to force his hand. She shed her boots and her breeches, and crawled into the bed with just a shirt, curling under the sheets.

He stood near the door, unmoving as a statue, a silhouette against the wall.

One moment he was there, and then he faded from sight.

Belle turned over in the bed and closed her eyes with a small, sad sigh.

 

___________________________________________________________

 

 

Rumpelstiltskin did not return in the coming days, but his boundary held fast.

Belle tucked her child in a sling against her chest and walked to the borders one afternoon. It was clear King George was still trying to find a way through. The army was still camped there, and she saw at least half a dozen soldiers marching towards her.

The barrier, whatever it was, was unseen, but every time they hit it, they ricocheted off it, like a well-thrown pebble off the surface of the sea.

Belle sat down on a mossy boulder to watch them. Her son was burbling quietly, and she rocked him as she watched man after man approaching the unseen line where her land met King George's. It was a futile exercise, challenging the power of the Dark One, but George was a stubborn and proud man. No doubt, he wanted to prove he was not afraid.

Her presence was clearly causing a commotion, and she was unsurprised when the King himself strode pompously through the ranks of his soldiers.

"This barrier won't hold forever, girl," he said. "When it falls, we'll be here."

Belle smiled quietly. "You really don't know what his power is capable of," she said. The child mewled fretfully, and she smoothed his downy sandy hair with a fingertip. "If he has been commanded to protect, he will do so indefinitely. You can throw all you like at the barrier, but it won't come down."

He slashed out with his sword furiously. The blade hummed when it struck, then shattered.

"Father." The Prince, James, was standing a short distance from his father. He looked weary, and more than a little frustrated. "The barrier is still holding. Why not leave a battalion here? The rest of the men aren't needed."

His father caught him by the arm. "I notice you haven't even tried," he snarled and thrust James towards the barrier.

Belle rose in alarm when the young man fell through it, landing on the grass. King George's eyes widened in triumph, and he ran at the barrier. The moment he hit it, he was thrown backwards through the air, crashing into one of the nearby tents.

James picked himself off the ground, turning to Belle. "Did you let me through?" he asked.

She shook her head, her mouth dry. "No one was meant to get through." She searched her memory frantically, then stared at him. "No one who intends harm." She took a step closer to him, searching his face. "You don't intend to harm us?"

He took a step back from her, looking at her warily. "Why would I want that?" he asked.

"Your father would," she said quietly.

The Prince looked back at his father, who was clearly rendered unconscious by the impact with the tent that had collapsed around him. He didn't look concerned and that in itself endeared him to her at once. "He does that," he agreed, then turned back to her. He offered a hand. "We weren't properly introduced. I'm James."

She couldn't help but smile. "Belle," she replied, clasping his hand firmly.

He peered down into her sling. "And who's this?"

"My son," Belle said. "He hasn't reached his naming day yet."

James smiled, tickling the boy's cheek, the baby's tiny fists batting at him. "He's a handsome little fellow," he said. He looked up at her face. "This is what you're defending, isn't it? It isn't just about the land."

"It's never just about the land," she replied, though her voice shook.

He looked at her searchingly. "He doesn't understand that," he said quietly. "To him, it's all power and prestige. You did the right thing getting the barrier up."

She looked at him in confusion. "But he's your father."

"That doesn't mean I have to agree with him," James said. "I can try and fight your corner, get him to be more diplomatic in his approach, but I can't guarantee it'll help. He's a stubborn as a mule, when he gets the bit between his teeth."

She sat back down on the boulder, rocking the child. "Why? Why would you help?"

He sat down beside her, looking at the mass of bewildered soldiers on the far side of the barrier. "I knew these lands," he said quietly. "There was a farm here. I remember what it was like before the war came. These were good lands."

"They were," she agreed in a whisper.

He looked at her. "I've seen the damage done. I can only imagine how many people died, and my father's army did nothing to intervene." Belle's fingers trembled over her son's chest, as she tweaked at the blankets around him. "He has no right to try and steal land as spoils of a war he ignored."

Belle pressed her lips together. Her eyes were burning and her throat felt tight.

James touched her arm. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Belle shook her head, brushing at her eyes with one hand. "It's all right," she said, drawing a smile to her lips. It trembled. "It's just been some time since I've been shown kindness by a stranger."

He smiled. "Then I'm glad I could help," he said. He leaned a little closer and murmured, "And sorry about that proposal. My father has no concept of romance."

Belle glanced sidelong at him. "You didn't look too pleased at the idea," she observed.

To her amusement, the Prince blushed to the tips of his ears. "Um. It's not because you aren't pretty," he said. "Because you are. You're very pretty. And I'm sure you're kind as well, and loyal to your people."

She patted his knee gently. "You don't need to compliment me, my boy," she murmured. "I'm a widow already. I know I'm a haggard old creature, and you probably have a young, bright-eyed maid waiting for you. Someone your father doesn't know about?"

He blinked foolishly at her. "How did you know?"

She smiled quietly. "I didn't, until now." She glanced towards the boundary, then back at the blushing young Prince. "Your father wouldn't be pleased, would he?"

He shook his head at once. "He would probably lock her up for treason," he admitted.

Belle gazed at him. "Tell him," she said, "that you're courting me. That I've agreed to allow you through. You impressed me with your looks and dignity." He went even redder. "That way, we both have some breathing space, and we can work on some way to get out of the situation."

He was staring at her with his mouth open. “But you have him.”

She didn’t need to ask who he meant. “What do you know of Rumpelstiltskin?” she asked quietly, looking at him.

For a moment, his open face took on a closed expression. “My father has an arrangement in place with him, one he holds over me, for the Kingdom,” he said. He looked at Belle. “My father is a grasping man, who will do anything for power and land. You’re not the first bride of opportunity he has tried to bind me to. Midas’s daughter was his first choice, but she didn’t like the shape of my nose or something.”

Belle lifted her hand to turn his face in profile. “It’s a dignified nose,” she decided. “If he asks, tell him that I have no problems with the shape of your nose.”

James ducked his head, hiding a grin. “You should be careful,” he said. “I might start liking you.”

She looked at him gravely. “I could ask the Dark One to curse you,” she said, then frowned when he blanched. “I was only teasing!” she said quickly. “I need all the allies I can get, and cursing you wouldn’t help.”

He looked around, as if expecting Rumpelstiltskin to pop out of thin air. “He’s a terrible creature,” he said. “He steals children from their parents.”

Belle’s arm tightened around that terrible creature’s son, as if she could protect him from the insults to his father. “No,” she said quietly. “I know of him well enough. He doesn’t take, unless something is being given. He offers a price. It doesn’t need to be paid, unless they accept it.”

“Or unless he is ordered?” James murmured, looking at her.

Her mouth turned up, but she knew the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Sometimes, you have to do terrible things when you are desperate,” she said, knowing that the summoning of the Dark One was the least of her sins. Sometimes, she dreamed of ogre children. She had never seen one, but with the new child in her arms, her mind offered images that woke her sobbing in the night. “War makes strange bedfellows of all of us.”

“Do you trust him?” The Prince was looking at her, intently, curious.

She smiled, small and tired. “More than anyone living,” she said. “He’s the most honourable man I know.”

Prince James stared at her in amazement.

“Hush,” she said. “Surely you know that not everything is what it seems.”

Colour rose in his face and he nodded. His girl, no doubt, someone special. He looked back towards the boundary. Belle noticed that his father was upright again, red-faced and gesticulating like a mad-man.

“Perhaps you should go and tell him the good news?” she suggested, rising. “Come to the village tomorrow. I’ll be there.”

The Prince rose too and bowed deeply. “Is there protocol when you’ve just become engaged?” he asked.

Belle looked at him in amusement. So young. She leaned up and kissed him firmly on the lips, then stepped back. “Now, run along.”

She had to admit, the surprise on his face was nothing compared to the stunned expression on his father’s. She smiled as sweetly as she could and waved her fingers at King George, before turning on her heel and setting out for home.

 

_____________________________________________

 

The engagement of King George’s son to the lady of the South was fodder for gossips in all the Kingdoms but Belle’s own. Only her own people knew the truth of their little ruse. They saw the Prince firsthand, walking among them, talking to them. Once, he even proved himself by wading into the water and helping move a fallen tree that blocked the river.

He was well-liked, and Belle guiltily found herself toying with the idea of replacing his father with him. It was an irresponsible and reckless thought, to consider abusing the power that Rumpelstiltskin had offered her. She had all but promised he would never be a weapon for her again, and she would stand by that.

The weight of the dagger against her thigh was a silent reminder and promise.

The power was there. True strength was in resisting it.

It was also strength to resist the urge to draw blood and call on him. Even that single day, with one person looking at her without fear, had been so refreshing. Her people tried to pretend that all was well, but she knew that some of them still made the gesture against evil as she passed.

What made it more trying was knowing that he wasn’t absent.

He came, when she slept.

At first, she had been unaware, but then she noticed something trivial, foolish. A kerchief beside the baby’s crib had been moved. Paranoia had struck her, so she bound the door shut more securely and scattered a fine layer of sand on the floor. Supernatural he might be, but he was not without flesh. She found his bootprints the next morning.

He had stood by the cradle, watching their child.

Part of her wept for him, that he could not simply come in daylight, and accept the child as she wished he would. However, the greater part was growing increasingly impatient with such ridiculous behaviour. He wanted to see the child. She wanted him to see the child. Instead of coming to some agreement, he crept around like a thief in the night.

In a fit of pique, she left a note in the cradle for him, telling him tartly that if he was going to visit so frequently, he had best start behaving like a proper houseguest. She concluded the note with the suggestion that while love-struck teenagers might appreciate nocturnal visitors, tired old widows needed their rest undisturbed by intruders.

His footprints stopped appearing after that.

She didn’t know if she was more annoyed or disappointed.

In his renewed absence, she took comfort in the company of Prince James. He seemed to enjoy spending more time with her and the people in the village than with his father, which made her wonder what had caused such loathing between father and son. Much of it seemed to be because of King George’s very nature, and how he had produced a son as kind and good-natured as James, she couldn’t imagine.

James visited each day. Sometimes, they walked in the village. Sometimes, they just sat outside of her modest house and talked about the war, and what had been ignored by his father’s Kingdom.

The sheer scale had been covered up and lied about, he confessed. They knew it was bad, but they didn’t know just how many towns were entirely wiped out. The scouts did, no doubt, and the King, but if it was known the neighbouring land was in such trouble, any decent King would have provided aid.

The thought of what they might have been able to do with aid made Belle’s heart ache. If they had come, her father might still be alive. Cecile and Eveline need not have burned in the ruins of the castle. Gaston might have survived. And she need never have called on the aid of Rumpelstiltskin.

Suddenly, and without warning, she was weeping.

Poor James put an arm around her, petted her shoulder, and was about as helpful as any man could be in such a situation. Out of pity, she asked him to watch the child. Laundry, she said. She had to go and wash the clothing and linens. Anything that meant he couldn’t see that she was still as broken as she had always been.

She fled for the river.

Normally, there were others there, but when they saw her, her expression, they knew that this was a time for the washing grounds to be hers alone.

For a long time, she sat on the sandbank, her face buried in her hands, and let herself break, just for a little while, just for a breath, just enough so she could pull her mask of strength back on without feeling it tremble.

In the end, she stripped down to her shift and waded into the river with the dirty clothing. She knew James would only worry if she returned to the house with the laundry as dirty as it was when she left. It was distracting and she could let her mind wander as she beat the stained fabric on the coarse washing stone.

The coolness of the water was delicious, especially with the sticky heat of the day, so once the clothing was clean, she splashed out into the river, ducking under and letting it carry the worst of the sweat and tears away.

She finally retreated to the shallows. She lay back on the pebbles and sand, the water still streaming around her, and gazed up at the sky. It was a clear, pristine blue. For a moment, she felt at peace.

It could never last, of course, and she heard boots rattling on stone.

“You owe me an explanation.”

She sat bolt upright in the water, turning in shock at Rumpelstiltskin’s voice. Her heart was racing suddenly, inexplicably. He was standing on the shore and he was shaking. He looked furious. Or at least, he looked as if he had been furious, and now, he was just staring at her, as if he had never seen her before.

“An explanation?” she said, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

His hands flexed and twitched by his sides, and his lips pulled back from his teeth. “That boy, that _Prince_ , is looking after _my_ son.”

Belle stared at him. He was acknowledging their child, which was what she had hoped, but the anger, the bitterness, the hostility was roiling off him like steam. He, the man who had left them, who stole in while they slept, who broke her trust.

“Your son?” she said slowly, getting to her feet. The water caught the fabric of her shift, wrapping it around her calves. It clung to her, and she saw his eyes flick up and down the thin linen. They paused at the belt, her belt, his dagger. It was always with her, no matter what. In defiance, she wrapped her hand around the grip and took two slow, deliberate steps towards him.

“You storm in here,” she said, her voice trembling with fury, “after you chose to leave, after you break into my home, after you come in the night and make me terrified that some evil force is trying to take all that keeps me sane. You think you have the right to demand anything of me? I offered you the chance to walk in my door freely. You chose to walk away. Why should you care who looks after him?”

Her arrow struck true. He flinched from her.

“I came,” he said, his voice low. His hands were trembling at his sides, the fists so tightly knotted she was sure the skin would snap open over the bones. He raised his eyes to her face, looking more lost than she had ever seen him. “I came to apologise.”

She waded closer. “For what?” she asked. He had caused more nightmares, by his foolish night visits, and she was not going to let him forget that. It was not going to be easy for him, she decided, even if the sight of him was making her head spin.

He tugged at one cuff. “I came to your home,” he said slowly. “Without your leave.”

“You did,” she said coolly. “You touched my possessions. You moved things. You left evidence of your presence.” She took another step closer, until she was on the very edge of the waterline, less than an arm’s length from him. “You made me feel like was in danger. That my son, our child, was in danger.”

It was if she had slapped him.

“I would never…”

She closed the distance between them, gazing at him. “I know,” she said, calmer, quiet. She raised one hand to press to his chest. “I know you wouldn’t.” He was staring at her, and there was such misery on his face that she wondered what had become of him. “Why did you come back, Rumpelstiltskin? Truly?”

His heart was pounding, faster than her own, and he stared at her. “Don’t you know, dear?”

“Know what?” she asked softly.

His face was close to hers, and she could feel his breath on her water-chilled skin, and suddenly, wonderfully, he was kissing her. Her breath caught and her fingers curled into his shirt, and she felt that the world had been swept away.

He drew back, and for a moment, he looked terrified, his eyes fixed on her face.

“Oh,” she breathed.

He jerked back, as if he was about to flee. Belle caught him by the arm and pulled him back to kiss him again. She could feel every stay of his waistcoat through the thin fabric of her shift, could feel the drumming of his heart against her own, could almost taste the shock and wonder on his lips.

All at once, their hands were moving. She was pushing his coat from his shoulders, his hands were sliding over her hips to curl into the fabric of her shift, dragging it up in thick folds. Her fingers moved on the stays of his waistcoat, his mouth moved down her jaw, to her throat, down, down. His mouth closed over her breast through the linen, and she whimpered as he drew on her nipple, flicked at it with his tongue. Her fingers caught in his hair and she hissed softly when one hand slid beneath her shift, pushing it up.

When she looked down to see him kneeling, gazing at her as if she were a goddess, her legs trembled beneath her and she dropped to her knees and pulled his mouth back to hers, kissing him with all the hunger that was thrumming in her veins.

Even as his hands fumbled with her belt and the blade, hers tugged at the fastenings of his clothing. It should have been impossible, when their lips barely parted, even to catch a whisper of breath, but somehow, his chest was bare to her fingers, and her shift was torn from top to bottom by his claws, leaving little scraps of fabric drifting in the stream.

She moved down his body with lips and hands as he sprawled back on the sandbank. The small sounds he was making, urgent, half-stifled, made her shiver in pleasure. She remembered the taste of him, the coarseness of his skin, and she revelled in the way the flat planes of his belly twitched as she kissed and nibbled her way lower.

The sharp jut of his hipbone caught her eye, barely visible beneath the waistband of his breeches, and she scraped her teeth over it mercilessly.

“Belle!”

She laughed, low and wicked. So he liked that, did he? She pressed her lips to the same point, placing a stinging lovebite there. He spasmed from head to toe, his hips jerking, and his fingers twisted into her hair. She smiled and dragged her tongue over the mark, knowing he would wear it for at least a few days, undeniably hers.

One hand moved to brush the front of his breeches, both teasing and taunting. He uttered a soft, animal sound, his body arcing towards her hand.

“Hush,” she whispered, rubbing her cheek against his belly. His fingers curled in her hair and he trembled as she loosened the stays of the breeches, her fingers slipping between leather and skin. She remembered him, although the memories were disjointed, her mind shattered before their last night together, so she reminded herself, touching, caressing, drawing more of those small, pleading whines from his throat.

He could have had her on her back at a word, but he didn’t. He was letting her lead. Her choice. She knew she could be merciful. She moved her hand. But mercy was for those who didn’t deserve some kind of punishment.

He made a low, bestial sound when she straddled his knees, and peeled his breeches down. His eyes were fixed on her face, as if he could barely believe it, and she met them, smiled, and let her nails drag down over hips and thighs.

“Belle,” he whispered hoarsely.

She lowered her head, wet hair trailing over his skin and took him in her mouth. His hands tangled in her hair demandingly, and just because of that, she scattered tiny bites along his length which made his legs twitch beneath her.

She moved back up his body, taking her time, every inch of her pressing to him. He would be covered in bruises by morning, left by her lips, her teeth. He was tugging on her hair, pleading, demanding, the desperate one for once.

Her teeth dragged against his collarbone. “Patience,” she whispered, holding her hips just above his. He was arching, pressing up to her, but no, no. Not yet. Not until she was good and ready, and until he begged, she wasn’t ready.

He tried to touch her, and she allowed that, his hands splaying down over her back. His claws dragged across her spine, sending tingling charges right through her and almost, almost making her bring their bodies together.

The water was rising around them. The tide returning no doubt. She let the lap of the waves set her motion, her hips moving over him as each little wave rolled in. The brush of her body, the lick of the cool water, again and again, until he was practically shivering beneath her. She braced her hands on either side of his head, lifted her face to look down at him, and the heat in his eyes stole her breath completely.

“Tell me,” she whispered, her fingers sunk in the sand.

His hands quivered down her back, and he was desperate and wanting, but so very, very afraid.

She lowered her head over his, until they’re sharing the same breath, until their lips are so close that he will taste the words rather than hear them. “Tell me,” she whispered again. Their hearts are beating against one another, she can’t tell which is hers and which is his.

“Please,” he implored, too afraid to say.

She kissed his lips, lower first, then upper, then his cheek, his cheekbone, his ear. “Tell me,” she whispered. “Please.”

He buried one hand in her hair, holding her there, still, motionless, and then he breathed the words she wanted to hear. Belle trembled, lifting her head to look him in the eyes, then smiled and kissed him, and in the same moment, pressed her body down to his.

His arms were around her, and it was like a fire fed with fresh air. He was moving beneath her, and their lips were doing battle, and every nerve in her body was on fire as he touched her. She threw back her head, arched back over him, and he bared his teeth and worshipped her with his hands.

And all the while, the tide rolled in.

 

_________________________________________

 

The rain had come on unexpectedly from a sky that had been clear for hours.

Belle and Rumpelstiltskin were both laughing as they gathered in the half-dried laundry and ran for shelter. It seemed he had forgotten entirely about his magic as he held the lid of the laundry basket above their heads in a vain attempt to keep them both dry.

Belle clung onto his hand as they hurried towards the village, trying to keep her footing on the rain-slicked ground, and every so often, he would glance at her from the corner of his eyes, as if he could hardly dare to believe what had happened on the riverbank.

They stumbled through the door and into the house, both drenched, and the young prince rose, startled. One hand was at his sword before he realised who he was seeing.

“Belle?”

She pushed her soaked hair out of her face. “James,” she said, blushing. “I’m sorry I took so long. The laundry. It was stained.” She tried to ignore the fact that Rumpelstiltskin snorted as he carried the basket over to the table and set it down. “It took longer than expected.”

James glanced towards Rumpelstiltskin. “And he found you. Are you all right?”

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Rumpelstiltskin growled maliciously.

Belle looked at him patiently. “Because you were in a temper,” she said. “You can look quite fearsome when you’re angry.”

The Prince stared between them in bewilderment as Rumpelstiltskin’s lips twitched in a wry smile, and he turned his attention to folding the laundry. He stepped a little closer to Belle to ask in a low voice, “Are you sure you’re all right? You were upset…”

She smiled and touched his arm. “I’m fine. Better now. I just needed to clear my head.” She couldn’t miss the way Rumpelstiltskin was taking forever to fold a single sheet. He wasn’t watching them, his back to them, but she knew that he was still afraid. “How was the baby?”

“Fine,” James assured her. “He woke for a little while. Then he arrived…” He nodded to the other man guardedly. “I got him settled again, but he’ll probably be hungry.”

Belle could see he was worried about something, but didn’t want to bring it up in front of Rumpelstiltskin, and she knew that Rumpelstiltskin himself was probably uncomfortable in the presence of a handsome young Prince who was allegedly her fiancé.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she said, released James’s arm to approach her lover. “I’m going to get James back to the boundary. Can you look after the baby?”

He blinked at her in mute astonishment, then nodded. “Of course, dear. I’ll try to resist the urge to eat him.”

She heard James swear and gave Rumpelstiltskin a stern look. His lips twitched. “Are you going to behave?” she demanded.

“I’ll do my best,” he said, giving her an almost playful bow, with far too much extravagant hand waving.

“Hm.” She picked up her sturdy umbrella and went over to the door. “Come on.”

“You’re leaving the baby? With him?” James hissed, approaching her.

She looked at him placidly. “Why shouldn’t he look after his own son?” she asked, opening the door and stepping out into the rain under the umbrella.

They were halfway through the village before he spoke. “Son?”

“Yes,” Belle replied. She didn’t need to look at him to know there was something not unlike shock on his face. She could understand it. Anyone who had encountered Rumpelstiltskin would probably see it the same way, but she was surprised to realise that she didn’t care what anyone else thought. Let them fear her. Let them fear him. That didn’t matter.

James walked in silence for a long while, then quietly said, “I thought your husband…”

Belle looked up at him. “Most people choose to believe that,” she said. “My husband was mortally wounded three months before he died. He could barely stand, let alone do anything more. If they want to believe my child was some miracle before Gaston passed away, they can, but anyone who can count and think will know the truth.”

She could practically hear him thinking.

“Why?” he finally asked.

She looked ahead as they ascended the path from the village. “Tell me, James,” she said quietly, “have you ever lost everything? Have you seen your family slaughtered? Have you seen your home burned to the ground? Have you watched your loved one dying, slowly and painfully, from wounds you can’t heal? Have you ever reached the point where you feel you are bleeding out and lying down and dying will be the simplest solution? Have you ever had one person who found you in that place, in that time, and who picked you up and wouldn’t let you give up, when you felt you couldn’t go on?”

“No,” he replied quietly.

“Then you have no justification in asking me why I did what I did or why I choose to place affection with a man that you hate.” She looked at him. “You know me. Do you really think I would care for him, if he was as much a monster as you believe?”

James stared at her. “I… I thought you were his mistress. The one who controlled him.”

Belle shook her head with a small smile. “That was a long time ago,” she said. “Anything he has done for me since your father infiltrated our lands hasn’t been under duress or order. I trust him, and I know he trusts me.”

The Prince fell silent.

“You said,” she murmured, as they walked, “that he made a deal with your father.” James nodded. “What was the price?”

He hesitated, then looked at her. “There were two,” he said quietly. “King George isn’t my father. My brother was bought and paid for, when we were infants, when the King’s wife was barren. He died when he was meant to bring fortune to my father by slaying a dragon for Midas, and so the King demanded a replacement.”

“You,” she said quietly. “You were the price, the second time.”

He nodded. “They would have taken my parents’ home, the farm we lived on. He told me I had to make the right choice: to be the Prince or to stay with my mother.”

“Did you?” she asked, looking at him.

He shook his head. “I’m not a prince,” he said. “I don’t belong in the palace. I should have stayed with my mother.”

She took his hand, squeezing his fingers. “We’ll find a way out,” she said. “I’ll speak to him, see if we can find some way to have King George free you.”

He didn’t look like he believed her, and she didn’t really blame him. They walked in silence until they reached the edge of the forest near the boundary. The rain had faded to a light drizzle, and he stopped. “You should go home,” he said. “I’ll be fine from here.”

She touched his arm. “You know where to find us,” she said.

James covered her hand with his and nodded. He turned in the direction of the boundary, taking a deep breath before setting on his way. Belle watched him until he was out of sight, wondering if there was any chance they could get him out of his predicament.

She took her time walking back to the village.

There was much to think about.

Her thoughts kept running back to Rumpelstiltskin.

When he kissed her, she knew that he cared for her, but when he said it, barely above a whisper, it had made her heart leap. She knew she and Gaston had loved one another. Their marriage had worked because of it, but it was the love of allies and friends more than anything else.

What she felt for Rumpelstiltskin was new, disconcerting, and intense as fire.

It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be that. There was too much twisted up around her emotions to let love even be an option anymore. When she thought of love, she thought of burnt ruins, of screaming until her throat bled, of names carved into stone, of the final coil of smoke from a funeral pyre.

The closest thing she could think of was need. She needed him. He, the man who didn’t fear her. He, the man who trusted her. He, the man who had held her up, when she would have fallen. He, the man who whispered his love to her on the riverbank. He, who was the father of her child.

What mattered was that he was there, and that he made her feel like she could live again.

She walked through the village. It was quiet with evening falling, and it drew a smile to her lips to see the glow from her own window.

She approached the window first and peeped in at father and son. Rumpelstiltskin was sitting on the floor by the fireplace, and the child was cradled in his arms. She could see his lips moving, and it took her a moment to realise he was singing a lullaby.

She pushed the door open as quietly as she could. Rumpelstiltskin’s head rose instantly, wary, and she smiled. “Is he sleeping?”

“Not anymore,” he replied. “I fear he may be hungry.”

“No wonder,” Belle murmured. “I’ve been a little distracted today.” She sat down in the seat nearest them and touched Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder. “I’ll feed him.”

He rose on his knees, cradling the baby as if he had done it a thousand times already. Belle loosened her blouse, then took their child in her arms. He was making demanding sounds, his rosebud mouth sucking at the air, and she smiled.

“Hungry little man,” she murmured, bringing him to her breast.

Rumpelstiltskin watched with rapt wonder as the baby started to feed. The small pink fists curled and uncurled and the baby made soft grunting sounds. “He’s strong.”

Belle stroked the infant’s downy hair gently. “He is. And unlike his father, he’s well-behaved.”

Rumpelstiltskin rolled his eyes at her. “The boy pointed his toothpick at me,” he said. “I think I was within my rights to be angry.”

Belle looked at him sternly. “You didn’t mention that you had traded him like a piece of meat,” she said. “I can see why he thinks you’re an unpleasant man.”

Rumpelstiltskin wrinkled his nose. “I traded no one. The King made him and his dear mother an offer. The choice was his.”

“You were still involved,” she pointed out.

He poked out his tongue, then reached down and tweaked her nipple from the baby’s mouth, making him whimper in complaint. Belle swatted Rumpelstiltskin’s hand and he looked up at her, wide-eyed, feigning hurt.

“You are an awful person,” she declared, settling the baby back at her breast.

“Known for it, dearie,” he retorted, but there was a small smile playing about his lips.

“Stealing food from the lips of babes.” She shook her head. “Terrible.”

He propped his chin on her knee, watching the child feed, and she hesitated only a moment before reaching out and touching his hair. Scarlet eyes looked up at her, and once more, he took her breath away with the intensity of his gaze.

He knelt up beside the chair, leaning over their child and claimed a kiss.

“What was that for?” she asked, her fingertips resting against his cheek.

He nudged his brow against hers. “No reason.”

She ran her thumb along his lower lip. “Did you mean it?” she asked quietly, “What you said by the river?”

“You doubt?” he murmured, kissing her thumb.

She tried to smile, but her lips rebelled. “I doubt everything,” she confessed in a whisper. “I wonder if I’m imagining all of this. Him. You.” Rumpelstiltskin studied her, then reached inside her shirt and pinched her side with his claws. “Ow!” She swatted the back of his head. “What was that for?”

He flashed an impish grin at her. “You wouldn’t imagine that,” he said.

She couldn’t help laughing. “You can be very strange.”

“Again, known for it,” he said. He searched her face. “Do you doubt?”

She looked at him. “Ask me again in the morning,” she said quietly.

He looked at her in surprise. “You want me to stay?”

She was silent for a long while. To admit it felt like she risked breaking everything. He lifted his hand to hold hers against his cheek, and he was looking at her, and for once, she let him see that she was as scared as him. “I don’t want you to go.”

His lips pressed to her palm. “I’m not going anywhere, dear,” he whispered.

“Good,” she breathed, then she smiled. “Because it’s your turn to change the baby.”

 

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Belle was normally an early riser.

Nightmares frequently played a part, and all too often, she would find herself standing by the crib, half-expecting to find it empty. It never was, but it made sleeping again impossible. She would sit with her son in her arms and pretend that she was fine.

That was how it had been since he was born.

That was how it had remained until she slept in the arms of Rumpelstiltskin. For once, she must have felt safe. Instead, she was jolted awake by him, a long while after sun-up, when he sat bolt upright, cursing.

The shock, not just of being woken by another, but of sleep unbroken by nightmares and fear, meant that it took her a moment to make sense of her surroundings. Rumpelstiltskin was already out of the bed, and from the thick feel of the air, was drawing on magic.

“What is it?”

He looked at her. “Trouble,” he said. “It seems King George has lost patience.”

Belle scrambled from the bed. “The boundary?”

“Holding,” he said tersely, “and it will for some time, but we need to get there so I can deal with his little pet sorcerer.” He held out a hand to her at once. Belle stared at him, then ran to the crib, scooping up their son in his blankets, and returned to take his hand.

It felt like the world flipped, inside out and backwards, and they were in the open plain that lead to the boundary. Rumpelstiltskin stalked forward towards it, ignoring the Prince who pushed past him to run towards Belle.

“I didn’t know,” James said urgently. “He didn’t tell me he was planning this.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Belle said blankly, looking beyond him, beyond her lover, at the King on the far side of the border. He had his arms folded and he was smiling grimly, as a wizened witch chanted and gestured at the boundary.

“Will it hold?”

Belle looked at him, and smiled quietly. “Rumpelstiltskin is protecting his family,” she said. “What do you think?”

James stared at her. “I think I’m glad I’m on this side,” he confessed.

Belle nodded, walking through the long grass to approach the boundary, stepping alongside Rumpelstiltskin, who was rigid and silent. “King George,” she murmured. “This is a rude wake-up call. And I thought we could be civil.”

He smiled unpleasantly. “This is civility,” he said. “When the barrier is down, you and that little bundle in your arms will see what it is to be uncivilised.”

“I imagine I would,” she said. “But the barrier isn’t coming down.” She laid her hand on Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder. He was almost vibrating and she could feel the power building in him, which made her skin thrum. “Rumpelstiltskin, the sorcerer, if you please.”

He grinned, showing all his teeth. “My pleasure, my lady,” he purred, and brought his hands down in a crushing gesture.

The witch barely had a chance to draw breath to scream. Belle bared her teeth, squeezing his shoulder through his thin shirt as the woman vanished in a cloud of red mist.

King George froze, suddenly silent.

“I think,” Belle murmured, “we have not made things clear. These are my lands. I will do anything to protect them. The boundary will stand. You will turn around and walk away. You and your army will not come here again.”

She had to admit, King George was determined in his folly. “You think killing a sorcerer will stop me?”

Belle gazed at him. The King who traded children. The King who bullied and threatened widows and orphans. The King who deserved as much pain as she could possibly grant without harming him in any way. She smiled and leaned closer to murmur a thought to Rumpelstiltskin, who grinned all the more unpleasantly.

“You’re right,” she said. “Quite right. Killing a sorcerer isn’t a good example.” She glanced over her shoulder at James. “I think a Prince will do.”

James’s face drained of colour. “Belle, you don’t need to do this.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” George exclaimed.

She turned back to face him, smiling. “You threatened me. You tried to take what I have fought and protected for years. This land is mine, paid for with the blood of my people, my family, my children.” She took a step closer to the boundary. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep it safe from someone like you.”

“Come along, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin called to James, grinning. “Time to be made an example of.”

The Prince walked towards them. “Belle…”

She turned around fully to look at him and smiled. “My little fiancé,” she said, approaching him. “I wonder if your loss will grieve your dear father.” She slanted a look back at George. “After all, there isn’t another one where this one came from, is there, Rumpelstiltskin?”

“No more, my lady,” Rumpelstiltskin giggled. “The last of his line, shrivelling and dying.”

“Belle, please,” James said urgently, grabbing her arm.

She looked up at him. “You really want to go home with your lovely father?” she said, imitating Rumpelstiltskin’s most mocking manner. “Now, we can’t have that, dear. We’ll send you to a better place.”

He stared at her, then looked at Rumpelstiltskin, who grinned and nodded.

“Are you going to put up a fight?” Belle murmured. He looked between them, then started to run for the barrier. It was a good choice, she knew. It looked more convincing if he was actually fleeing from them. “Rumpelstiltskin, be a dear and stop him.”

Rumpelstiltskin snapped his fingers and the Prince was dragged back by an unseen line. He struggled, lashing at the air.

“Father!”

“Stop this!” George shouted. “Stop this! Let him go!”

Belle looked at him, putting her head to one side. “Why? I asked you to leave and you ignored me. Why should I spare your child? You said yourself you would have slain mine. I see no difference between us, your Majesty.”

Rumpelstiltskin reached up to stroke James’s hair, as if he were a pet. “Don’t worry, dearie. It will only be excruciating for the first few minutes, then it’ll ease to blistering agony and then, you’ll be dust.”

“Belle, please,” James said, jerking away from Rumpelstiltskin’s hand.

“I’m sorry, James,” Belle murmured, gazing at his father. “An example needs to be made of what happens to any who tries to harm me or mine. Anyone who comes near this barrier again, or dares to try and strike at these lands will meet the same fate.”

“Now, dearie?” Rumpelstiltskin breathed.

Belle nodded. “Now,” she murmured.

She didn’t raise her head as James was flung into the air. She felt magic ripple around her and knew that Rumpelstiltskin was shielding her from the sound of it, but she watched King George’s face. He was shouting, screaming, but it wasn’t in grief. He didn’t care about James at all. All he cared about was the loss of his line.

Then, he was sick. Others were too. Many who were close enough to see. Whatever was being done to James was something that even hardened veterans could not stomach.

Belle straightened her back, didn’t dare look up.

When her ears were unmuffled and there was silence, she looked down at her son.

“We’re done here,” she said. “Goodbye, George. I don’t intend to see you again.”

She turned back towards the forest, and heard Rumpelstiltskin fall into step behind her.

It was only once they were beneath the shade of the trees that she let out the breath that she was holding.

“You were magnificent,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured, slinking up behind her and putting an arm around her middle. “They were truly terrified.”

“Whatever you did to him didn’t help,” Belle murmured. “How bad was it?”

His teeth nipped her earlobe. “You really would be better not knowing,” he murmured. One of his hands slid over her belly, beneath the baby’s blankets. “I think it was quite convincing enough, and there isn’t enough left for them to realise your little prank.”

She swatted his hand. “You like upsetting people,” she snorted, pushing him away.

“Only the unpleasant ones,” he agreed, giggling. “Now, your little fiancé will have to agree I’m not so dreadful and stop poking at me with his sword.”

She shook her head, smiling, as they made their way back to the village. Rumpelstiltskin was practically dancing alongside her, clearly delighted in the mischief he had worked. “Where did you send him?” she asked.

He bit his lower lip innocently. “Where you said.”

“Somewhere near Snow White?” she said. He widened his eyes innocently and she groaned, stopping in her tracks. “Rumpelstiltskin, where exactly is James?”

He pressed his lips together thoughtfully, raising his eyebrows and looking innocently up at the sky. “Well, I think it’s safe to say she wouldn’t miss him when she woke up,” he said.

Belle groaned again, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips. “You dropped him into her bed, didn’t you?”

He grinned, showing all his teeth. “You weren’t very specific,” he said. “I do need my orders to be very clear.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why I put up with you,” she said, but she was having trouble hiding a smile. He knew it too, the wretched man, and he grinned again, wrinkling his nose at her.

They returned to her house, and much of the rest of the day was spent trying to stop him sneaking his hand under her blouse or swatting his nose away from her neck. Something about her taking charge clearly delighted him, so even prodding him and chasing him off was having no real affect on him. In fact, it was more of an adverse affect than anything.

“Why not, dearie?” he complained when she finally pulled out his dagger, with the threat of command hanging on her lips. “I know you want to.”

“For one thing,” she said, “I am currently feeding the baby.”

Rumpelstiltskin peered down at the child and sighed. “When he’s asleep, then?”

Belle pressed her lips together in a stern line. “Perhaps,” she said. “If you behave.”

Of course, he listened too well, and as soon as the child was tucked into his crib, he was pressed against her back, and his hands were moving on her.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she groaned in warning.

“You said behave, dear,” he whispered against her throat, drawing her skirt up between them, his body flush against hers. “You didn’t specify whether it was well or badly.”

“Semantics,” she breathed, her hands braced against the wall above the cradle. “If you wake him, I’ll kill you myself.”

He laughed hoarsely.

In the end, the baby did wake, and joined his exhausted mother and smug father in the cosy bed at the back of the cottage. Rumpelstiltskin was curved against Belle’s back, and their son tucked in front of her chest. His small, pudgy fists were batting at his father’s tickling hand.

“You should be trying to get him back to sleep,” Belle murmured. “Not encouraging him.”

“He’s happy enough,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured, his chin resting on her shoulder.

Belle looked down at the baby, who giggled and pulled his father’s finger to his mouth to chew it. “He is,” she agreed.

“I have a name,” he said suddenly, quietly. “For him.”

Belle tilted her head to look at him. “Oh?”

He nodded. “He should be named for what he shall be,” he said gravely.

“And what’s that?” Belle murmured.

He kissed the corner of her lips. “Our child? Trouble.”

Belle swatted his hand. “I’m not calling my son Trouble.”

Rumpelstiltskin giggled. “It’ll stick, dearie,” he said. “Just wait and see.” He nuzzled her cheek. “If you would prefer something more traditional, we can name him for your father.”

She smiled, sweet and sad. “Yes,” she whispered, though she had a suspicion that the child would be answering to Trouble before his first year was up.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are curious why Rumpel is still Rumpel, while it may be True Love's Kiss from his side, Belle's not quite there yet. As she says herself, she has a _lot_ of emotional scarring to deal with before she can even consider what she feels for him as love.
> 
> And now, there is a sequel: [Kindling a Blaze](http://archiveofourown.org/works/386158)


End file.
